


Shall the Maker Be My Guide

by mangocianamarch



Series: Le Livre de L'abondance par La Dame Marciana [12]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, F/M, Other tags to be added in the future
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 07:58:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4658811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangocianamarch/pseuds/mangocianamarch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Maker has secretly returned to us, His people, and wouldn't you know it, it's in the form of the Commander of the Inquisition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shall the Maker Be My Guide

**Author's Note:**

> You read the summary? And you cliCKED ON THE FIC?? YOU'RE ACTUALLY INTERESTED AND HERE AND READING THIS??? Wow, thank you :O
> 
> The idea for this AU sprang forth into life during a livestream by Tumblr user [rutherfart](http://rutherfart.tumblr.com/). I don't remember how, but someone offered up, as a joke, an AU where Cullen was secretly the Maker. Me being me, the whole idea started to sort of make "sense," from his eyes being _gold_ (who the hELL HAS GOLD EYES???) to him asking somewhere at the first quarter of the game how [you] feel about being named "Herald of Andraste," to, I don't know, even the prayer scene in the last quarter of the main storyline. Things happened, art unrelated to this idea was drawn, junk food was consumed (mostly by me), coffee was gorged down (again, me) and next thing I know, I'm saying something that's worth ficcing. That's what this is.
> 
> This is mostly going to be ficlets, not in chronological order, some of them just somewhat rewritten scenes from the game, re-imagined for Maker!Cullen angst or fun times. If you ever get an idea for a fic in this AU, my [**fic blog's askbox**](http://fanficcianawrites.tumblr.com/ask) is ready and willing.
> 
> Oh, and also because it happened in Tai's livestream, I've used her Inquisitor, Celestine Lavellan.
> 
> All that said, I beg your understanding and forgiveness and don'T LEAVE PLEASE DON'T LEAVE JUST PLEASE SIT DOWN AND JUST WAIT PLEASE omg.

_Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide. I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the beyond._

The words are not His, but He hears His own voice pronounce them anyway, as if another version of Himself is kneeling beside him in equal desperation. How strange a sight He must be, praying to a statue of His Beloved, praying _to Himself_ for strength and courage.

But He is _not_ praying, and it is not _to Himself_ that He offers the chant, and the secret of it tears at Him even more, perhaps now more than ever.

_For there is no darkness in the Maker’s light…_

The Beloved had believed as much herself, when she had the means to…

_…And nothing that he has wrought shall be lost._

…And still, in the end, the world lost their prophetess to fire, the day He let His weakness win, so that He could have her at His side forever.

Andraste had neither cried out nor begged for mercy or for help as the flames of her pyre consumed her. But He had heard her heart, giving herself to His choice freely. And what had He done?

The Maker did not save Andraste. The Maker had let Andraste burn, so that her spirit could be at peace in His kingdom, free from the sufferings and feters of her mortal life.

It had been far too easy a choice. It was weak, and selfish, and greedy. She could have done more, could have _been_ more, and now all that is left of her in this world is rock hewn in what the people could only hope was something worthy of her.

Is this to be the Herald’s fate?

In His name, the Woman had once wielded a sword and commanded armies to right the wrongs of the world. And in her name, another now, not even of the faith, is doing the same. And He…

“A prayer for you?”

Celestine’s voice is gentle as always, and it makes Him ache all the more. “For those we have lost,” He replies, “And those…I am afraid to lose.”

The elf is light on her feet, and He can just barely hear her approaching. “You’re afraid?” she asks. He knows wonderment in her tone is sincere.

He sighs. “Of course I am,” He answers, and perhaps there is more bite in his voice than He had intended, “Corypheus possessed that Grey Warden at Mythal. What more is he capable of?”

A worry He has been nursing since Corypheus’ first attempts at greatness. A worry He has been burdening Andraste’s Herald with for fear of being discovered. _Weak, selfish, greedy._ “It’s only a matter of time before he retaliates,” He continues, rising to his feet, “We must draw strength wherever we can.”

Celestine keeps her distance, but her smile is understanding and sympathetic. It pains Him.

“When the time comes, you will be thrown into his path again,” He hears himself say out loud, “Andraste preserve me, I must send you to him.”

The Maker is confessing, and begging for forgiveness. His insides twist at the realization, and He feels his heart drop. He loves her, as He had loved Andraste. Andraste had died for that love, and now…

The quiet lilt of her voice breaks through His thoughts, and he can hear the smile in her words. “Look at everything we’ve accomplished,” she reminds Him, “I’m ready for this. We _all_ are.”

His girl. His brave girl. His brave, courageous, beautiful Celestine. He draws strength from her.

She sighs when he puts his palm to her cheek. Once more, He confesses to her. “We would not be here without you.”

Celestine throws her arms around Him, and He pulls her close. Even through the gloves He wears, He can feel the warmth of her skin, the softness of her hair. Even with the armour between them, He can hear her heartbeat, the steady rise and fall of her chest as she breathes deep.

She is here, _still_ here. She is a fighter, a survivor. She lives. She _will_ live.

“Whatever happens,” He whispers, “you _will_ come back.”

She _must_.

Her grip on Him tightens. “Cullen,” she says quietly, “You don’t have to --”

“Allow me this,” He pleads, unwilling to let her go just yet, “To believe _anything else_ would…”

_...I can’t._

 

  _ **~ END CHAPTER 1.** **~**_


End file.
